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By, Holly Beck

Chic Chat:
Natividad

On the other side of the surf trip spectrum, far away from plush, chartered surf yachts with air-conditioning, DVD players, and three chef-prepared meals a day, is the island of Natividad. Just off the coast, at about the midpoint of the Baja Peninsula, it remains a part of surfing’s frontier.

While the island’s industrious local man, Chattanooga, might wish it different, Natividad is only accessible to surfers via private planes landing on a rocky dirt runway. Strong offshore winds can make landings difficult and restrict access further to only the most confident pilots. In fact, just off to the side, a rusted plane rots with its belly in the sand as an eye-catching testament to the very real danger. Without air traffic controllers, baggage handlers, or ground personnel with orange glow sticks, Chattanooga serves as a one-man welcoming committee. His ever-present grin shows the pride in his ability to turn dollars into enough beer and lobster tail to satiate even a surfer’s appetite. But, if these delectable luxuries seem to belie the rugged image, one need only go so far as the surf camp itself.

With four walls enclosing a concrete floor, a large wooden shelf serving as bunks, and a lone outhouse just a short walk away, this surf camp was not built with comfort in mind. Even with the addition of inflatable mattresses, an electrical generator, gas burning stove, and a few mostly broken beach chairs, it isn’t a place one would want to spend more than a few days. I didn’t look in a mirror once, which was probably a good thing since I didn’t shower either. Perhaps this is why we were the first group of girls ever to stay and surf there.

The ruggedness extends into the water. While Natividad is known for its perfect barrels, we didn’t see too many. For all the tubes I pulled into, I only came out of two. The strong offshore winds that contribute to the barrel effect quickly pushed us out of the impact zone while paddling out, but made it difficult to take off, and often blew us completely off the wave while trying to do top turns.

Of course, not even the most dedicated surfer can be in the water all day long. We spent every minute while not surfing, sitting in dilapidated beach chairs, baking in the sun. One afternoon, Julia took off in the Zodiak with our photographer and pilot on a spear fishing run and hours later, returned kissing the sand, ecstatic just to be alive. Apparently they were so loaded down by the weight of several very impressive yellow-tail tunas that they ran out of gas mid-channel. After a half hour of frantic rowing, their efforts proving futile against the strong wind and current, they discovered just enough gas in the tank so that if positioned at an angle, it would drip into the engine and carry them home. After three days of a strict diet of lobster burritos and power bars, Erin, a dentist’s dream patient, didn’t have enough water to adequately brush her pearly whites. Anyone who knows Erin could testify to this serious dilemma. Even when Julia’s newly discovered allergic reaction to freshly caught "bugs" kept her out of the water one day, watching while and Erin and I fought a relentless current only to take off on one closeout after another, we all left the island stoked. We had surfed, sunned, and even suffered, but in the end we were smiling. We had boldly gone where no girl’s surf trip had gone before, and despite what those pricey surf charter companies might tell you, a surf trip should involve a little adventure.